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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28390779">Our Dreams Are Laughable</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/robindrake93/pseuds/robindrake93'>robindrake93</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Bright Sessions (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Fluff and Smut, Apologies, Damien Is His Own Warning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Murder, One Shot, POV Third Person, Past Samantha Barnes/Mark Bryant - Freeform, Running Away</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:55:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,779</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28390779</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/robindrake93/pseuds/robindrake93</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark shows up at Damien's apartment to ask him to run away.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mark Bryant/Damien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Our Dreams Are Laughable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is over a year old and I only just now finished it. It also marks my 100th fic on AO3. Yay! </p>
<p>Don't reupload/repost my works.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Damien was hoping for but not expecting a knock at his apartment door. He stood on the other side of it, annoyed that there wasn’t a peephole. “What?”

</p><p>     “It’s me,” came a voice from the other side. The voice was a knife in Damien’s chest, twisting around to tear apart his heart and puncture his lungs. “Please open the door, Damien. It’s raining.”

</p><p>     Damien unlocked the deadbolt and slid the chain out of its latch. He opened the door. It was, in fact, raining outside and the man on the welcome mat was dripping wet. Damien took in the sight of him and tried to remember how to breathe. 

</p><p>     “Do you still want to run away?” Mark asked nonchalantly. He shifted his weight, drawing Damien’s attention to the backpack on one shoulder and the camera bag on the other. 

</p><p>     The second Mark said it, Damien started planning. He could be ready to go in less than five minutes. There was nothing in the apartment that couldn’t be replaced. “Only with you.”

</p><p>     Mark’s lips twitched up in a fond smile. Then he caught himself and his expression became neutral. “I’m an alcoholic. I’m drunk right now.” His cheeks were red despite the cold outside. His eyes were just this side of glazed and bloodshot. 

</p><p>     Damien swore softly. What the fuck did they do to him? “We’ll figure it out.” He stood aside so that Mark could come in. He didn’t bother to close the door behind him. Shutting the door seemed like trapping them in this apartment and this city; two things Damien didn’t want. Dr. B and her little therapy gang, and the AM, all knew where he lived. If Mark hid here, they would find him within an hour. 

</p><p>     “What if I don’t want to figure it out?” Mark asked as he looked around the apartment and dripped water onto the floor. His sneakers squeaked against the cheap linoleum threshold. 

</p><p>     Damien shrugged. He went into the bedroom and collected the few possessions he took with him most places; namely a few sets of clothes, a nice watch, his cell phone and charger, and a small bag of toiletries. They were all stuffed into a backpack. Maybe Damien was hallucinating and Mark was still out of reach in Dr. B’s apartment. 

</p><p>     Mark was still standing in the entryway. He looked around but there was nothing personal to see. Everything belonged to someone else once. His eyes settled on Damien. “I won’t change my mind. When I’m sober, I mean.”

</p><p>     A few strides was all it took to cross the distance to Mark. Damien touched his arm and then his face. Decidedly not a hallucination, then, but bittersweet reality staring him in the face. “I’ll kill myself before I bring you back here,” Damien warned. He still felt hollowed out and empty inside but there was a tingling sensation that told him this wouldn’t last. Hope was building quickly; soon it would be a wildfire among the brambles of despair. 

</p><p>     Mark gazed down at Damien, a serious expression on his face. His eyes burned with the hellfire assurance that alcohol brought. “Kill me too.”

</p><p>     Damien wasn’t sure that he was capable of killing either of them but he nodded regardless. He grabbed the keys off the hook and walked out the open front door. The black SUV he took them to was from the Pre-Mark era of Damien’s life. As far as he knew, no one knew that he owned this vehicle as he’d rarely driven it and never while he was doing recon. It was a car nice enough that a young single man might drive it because he had a decent office career but not so nice that people thought he actually had any sort of finances (or god forbid the desire to street race). In other words, the SUV didn’t stand out in the slightest. After they put their things in the back, Damien slid into the driver's seat.

</p><p>     Mark got into the passenger seat. He buckled himself in, only somewhat fumbling with the seat belt. 

</p><p>     Then they were both in the vehicle and it felt like deja vu of the worst kind. This was how it had gone when Damien rescued - kidnapped - Mark and this was how it went for three months while Damien was metaphorically and literally in the driver's seat of their lives. This was the beginning of a dynamic that Mark didn’t like, that he had let them be separated over, that had stolen Damien’s power from him. It was daunting to be starting the same way, again, when that direction had led to failure. There was even another conveniently valid excuse to not let Mark drive; then it was coma-recovery and now it was drunkenness. 

</p><p>     It was difficult to tell how much time had passed with the two of them just sitting in the SUV with the rain pattering gently but persistently against the windshield. The clock was correct but neither of them were looking at it. Damien looked out into the rain and did his best to snuff out that flame of hope. Mark looked at Damien. Finally, Mark said, “Damien, I’m serious. Let’s get the fuck out of this town.”

</p><p>     So Damien put the SUV into drive. They had a full tank of gas and no money. At least, Damien had no money. He wasn’t sure about Mark or what a drunk man’s packing skills entailed. Damien also didn’t have his powers back completely. It was a very, very slow return. The most he could persuade anyone to do was to let their eyes slide over him without noticing his presence. Useful, but ultimately only the very tip of his power-related iceberg. They got onto the freeway and headed West. “Are they going to look for you?”

</p><p>     Now that they were moving, Mark slouched down in his seat. He turned the heater on. “After you took me the first time, Sam spent three weeks driving around looking for me.” He didn’t mention that this was less than a third of the time that Mark had been gone. Damien could do the math on that without it being spelled out. “Joanie’s never been able to tear herself away from her work to do something as hopeless as physically looking for me. And now she’s back working for the AM, under Agent Green.”

</p><p>     “The ex-boyfriend,” Damien recalled. He’d had fun fucking with Agent Green about what his relationship with Dr. B had been. Wisely, he kept this story from Mark. Mark was a fairly chill dude but he wouldn’t take kindly to the idea of Damien and his sister getting it on whether the story was real or not. 

</p><p>     Mark rolled his eyes. “Yup.” He made a popping noise on the ‘p.’ He drew his legs up to his chest and leaned against the door in a picture of perfect misery. “I don’t know how she can work for them after finding out what they do...and what they did to me.” 

</p><p>     Personally, Damien couldn’t understand it either. Dr. B always talked like she hated the AM, like she was scared of them, like she wouldn’t send her worst enemy in their direction. But she had sent Damien, oh yes, she put him on their radar and now he got phone calls every fucking day. It was like being recruited by a cult or having your number passed around to telemarketers; they tried to wear you down so that you bought whatever bullshit they were selling. “I’ll make sure they never find us.”

</p><p>     Mark uncurled enough to slip a hand across the center console and onto Damien’s thigh. His touch was drunk fever hot through Damien’s jeans. “I can feel your power coming back,” he agreed. For once he sounded eager about the prospect. 

</p><p>     Damien shot him a toothy grin. “You’ll get it too,” he said. The very idea of someone to share his powers with was titillating. It sent pleasant bursts of electricity through his veins. Damien wasn’t alone anymore. The hope within, which had been smoldering for months, suddenly caught with new life. If Mark did change his mind then this would be it; this would be the end of Damien. 

</p><p>     They drove mostly in silence or while listening to the radio. Unlike the last time they were on this freeway, the silence wasn’t oppressive or tense. This felt like the comfort of the familiar and the anticipation of a new start. By the time they crossed the state line, Mark was dozing in the passenger seat and the rain had cleared up. The radio was set to a rock station with the volume turned so low that the music was only an impression of the real thing. They were the only ones on the straight road so Damien felt confident in stealing glances at Mark. His heart did a strange thing where it felt like it was twisting and expanding simultaneously. He wasn’t going to fuck this up, not this time. 

</p><p>     Damien drove past five or six motels and grew more anxious with each one passed. The others didn’t know how Damien lived on the road - unless Mark told them - so they wouldn’t be looking for Mark in motels. But that wasn’t what had Damien uncharacteristically anxious. Motel rooms held memories for the two of them and the memories weren’t great (mostly for Mark). It felt a bit like there were eggshells to walk on except if you stepped on one, it turned out to be a grenade and the thing it blew apart was your love. 

</p><p>     “Are we gonna stop soon?” Mark asked. 

</p><p>     Damien hadn’t realized he was awake. “Yeah. I’m just looking for a good one.” He didn’t know how they would be able to stay anywhere: good or bad. His powers weren’t up to par and he was broke. 

</p><p>     Mark hummed as he settled down again. “Just make sure they’ve got a bar. I’ll get us in.” His eyes closed.

</p><p>     “You have cash, right?” Damien asked, suddenly worried. If Mark had a credit card then they could be tracked. Damien didn’t like being tracked even when he wasn’t on the run. 

</p><p>     Mark sighed. “I’m not an idiot, Damien.” But he was currently a drunk. His words, not Damien’s. Then again, the only difference Damien could see was that Mark was a little more impulsive and broody. 

</p><p>     So Damien scouted for more expensive hotels than the cheap ones they’d stayed in before. A cheap motel wouldn’t have a bar. It took forty more minutes and leaving the freeway before Damien found one that looked like it would have a bar somewhere in the building. He pulled up and they both got out. Damien did not hand his keys to the valet. 

</p><p>     Mark strode into the hotel lobby with purpose. His nap seemed to have done him good. He chatted with the woman at the front desk while Damien stood slightly behind him and looked around. It was a nice hotel; clean and fancy. He could even see a bar and restaurant from where he stood. Silently, Damien flexed his powers. He willed the other patrons to ignore him and Mark, to not look at them, to forget about them. There weren’t many people in the lobby to practice on. 

</p><p>     Mark looked at Damien over his shoulder but didn’t comment. He got their room and paid with cash.

</p><p>     They went back to the car to get their things. Damien handed off his keys to the valet, though it was with reluctance. Having to ask for his car keys back made him feel trapped. 

</p><p>     In the elevator, there was no way to avoid how pale Mark looked. Sweat glistened on his forehead. His eyes hadn’t lost that glassy look. Now that they were in proper lighting, the stubble on his face was apparent. The elevator doors dinged open. Mark led them to their room. His hands shook as he tried to insert the keycard. 

</p><p>     Damien waited a few moments, watched him fumble with it. Then he gently took the card from Mark and opened their door. He let Mark go in first. <i>‘I’m an alcoholic.’</i> They would deal with it just like they’d dealt with Mark’s coma recovery. 

</p><p>     There was, of course, a fully stocked minibar in their room. It was made of wood with glowing panels and a mirror hung over the back. Mark made a beeline for it, dropping his backpack and camera case onto the floor. He popped open a small bottle of tequila and chugged it. He sighed that content junkie-who-just-got-a-fix sigh and set the bottle on the counter. When he faced Damien, it was without sweat or shakes, though his eyes were still unnaturally bright. “I’m making you nervous.”

</p><p>     Damien locked the deadbolt. He set his backpack on the floor. “You really wanted to see Dr. B and Sam.” There was bitterness in his tone that he couldn’t hide. Not that Damien could hide much from Mark. Mark knew him best of all. 

</p><p>     Mark’s lips twitched in a smile but his eyes held no fondness. He opened another small bottle of liquor. “She isn’t even here to get pissed off about the nickname. You actually like calling her that, don’t you?” It didn’t seem like a question that needed an answer. “Joanie is working for the AM. As in, in the building that I was held captive in. She’s <i>‘studying’</i> the atypicals who come in.” His expression twisted into one of white hot anger. He put the bottle to his lips and drained that one too. 

</p><p>     Again, Damien wondered what they’d done to Mark for him to turn into this. Maybe Damien hadn’t been the best partner to road trip and recover with but at least Mark hadn’t been an alcoholic. Out of habit, Damien didn’t drink. He sat on the single bed in the room; a king size with an embroidered comforter. “You mentioned earlier that she was working for them.”

</p><p>     “The same fucking building, Damien!” Mark snapped. “If she wanted to, she could go to my cell. She could see where…” Mark turned towards the glowing bar. He ran a finger along the bottle. 

</p><p>     Every instinct in him told Damien to go and comfort Mark. Damien stayed where he was. “And Sam?” 

</p><p>     Mark barked out a laugh. “She works for the AM too. As if that wasn’t bad enough, we just don’t get along on a personal level.” 

</p><p>     “What does that mean?”

</p><p>     Mark peered at Damien over his shoulder. His expression was resigned. “Like a fucking dog,” he muttered to himself. Louder, he said, “Sam’s anxiety was too much for me to handle. She wanted to save me from all the dragons in the world.”

</p><p>     Damien could relate though he suspected that in this scenario, he was the dragon. 

</p><p>     “I probably could have handled that. I mean Joanie is the same way. You were the same. Wanting to keep me safe from the bad guys.” Mark leaned heavily against the bar. He scowled at the mirror. “But Sam wanted to take the physical stuff slow. Really slow. Even just making out too hot, she’d get panic attacks and disappear. And then I’d disappear and when we got back the mood would be killed.” 

</p><p>     Damien couldn’t relate at all. He’d gone without sex long enough that not having it didn’t bother him. What he craved more than anything was acceptance and an equal. “Oh. That sucks.” It sounded mechanical even to his own ears.

</p><p>     Mark smiled at him in the mirror, a shark’s expression. “I know, you were never a slut like me. Couldn’t be one.” He pushed off the bar. “So when someone <i>doesn’t</i> have sex with you, it’s a win.” Mark stopped in front of Damien, their knees bumping. He looked down at Damien, eyes as unfeeling as a shark. 

</p><p>     Damien didn’t do seduction. Not sexually. He was good at persuading but that was different. His heart beat unsteadily in his chest, the tempo maddeningly upticking as Mark towered over him. There was plenty of time to back out of the kiss but Damien only tipped his face up to meet Mark’s lips. Mark tasted bitter, his breath smelled like alcohol. 

</p><p>     “I’m supposed to be breaking up with you,” Mark whispered against his lips. 

</p><p>     Damien stiffened in shock. 

</p><p>     “Not that they put it in those terms. They said to me: <i>‘Mark, Damien makes us feel unsafe. He’ll only leave the city if you tell him to go because he’s only staying for you.’</i>” Mark kissed him again. “It took me a month to decide what to do and they kept hounding me the whole time. The kids thought you were already gone, so I’m glad you didn’t feel the need to keep stalking them.”

</p><p>     Kids? Probably the boys. The one Damien tried to kidnap and his boyfriend with the huge fists. Damien felt a ghost of pain spark throughout his body as he remembered it. 

</p><p>     “This was an efficient way to get me out of town,” Damien noted cautiously. He reminded himself that Mark had his camera bag; he wouldn’t have brought the camera if he’d intended to ditch Damien in the hotel. 

</p><p>     Mark hummed agreement. He settled in Damien’s lap, straddled his hips. His lips hardly left Damien’s, seemed to be hungry for him. Mark was probably trying to replace Sam with Damien. 

</p><p>     Damien kissed back as much as his inexperience would let him. He pulled away panting more often than not, didn’t know what to do with his hands or his nose. Kissing was nice but he still had questions. “Are you breaking up with me?”

</p><p>     “No,” Mark said in a monotone. He cupped Damien’s face with his hands and tilted it the way he wanted so that they could kiss again. 

</p><p>     Their kisses were sparklers; bursts of heat and light followed by the knowledge that what they were doing was potentially dangerous. Damien had to bury this feeling; bury how good it made him feel to have Mark in his lap, kissing him. Because later Mark might change his mind and Damien wasn’t the type of beast to force someone into a sexual or romantic relationship. No matter what the Bright Gang thought (and the fact that even Dr. B thought that about him just hurt - they really didn’t know Damien at all). 

</p><p>     Mark ran his hands up through Damien’s hair, lightly pulled it out of its ponytail. He tossed the band away then ran his hands through Damien’s hair with so much force that it tipped Damien’s head back. “Gods, I love your hair.”

</p><p>     Damien’s scalp tingled pleasantly. It seemed like his hair had a direct line to his dick because he went from half hard to fully hard. He tried to will his erection away before he remembered that it didn’t matter; Damien didn’t have any control over Mark. He couldn’t plant wants or thoughts into Mark’s head. They were on even footing. Still, he should be careful for later. 

</p><p>     Mark tugged on Damien’s hair again. His tongue slid across Damien’s lips. 

</p><p>     But, well, fuck it. Later wasn’t now; it was a problem for the future. Damien opened his mouth. He slid his hands up the back of Mark’s shirt and was surprised to find that Mark actually felt healthy rather than skeletal. At least they did something right. 

</p><p>     Mark kissed Damien like he needed it to live. His tongue dipped into Damien’s mouth. Suddenly, Mark pulled out of the kiss. His brown eyes were dark. His cheeks were red. “I don’t have any lube.” 

</p><p>     “Okay,” Damien said. He was, admittedly, a bit slow on the uptake. The last person he’d had sex with was a girl fourteen years ago and lube wasn’t a necessity then. Plus, this wasn’t where he’d expected the evening to go. Yes, Damien wanted to get back to where he and Mark were last summer but Mark had taken the reins and Mark called the shots. Things were already vastly different. “They probably sell some downstairs,” Damien ventured. While he wasn’t sure if he was ready for sex, he wasn’t going to be a Sam. 

</p><p>     Mark flashed him a delighted smile. “You think room service would deliver it?” 

</p><p>     Damien’s lips quirked in a smile. “If you asked,” he purred, “I think anyone would do anything.”

</p><p>     The look in Mark’s eyes was dark and hungry, a beast lying in wait. “Except you,” he breathed, lips nearly touching Damien’s again. 

</p><p>     Damien closed the distance between them. He wanted to lick the taste of alcohol out of Mark’s mouth until he tasted like himself again. “I’m here,” Damien pointed out.

</p><p>     “Because you’re greedy,” Mark said between kisses. 

</p><p>     “Yes,” Damien admitted. 

</p><p>     “Greedy for me,” Mark clarified. He kissed Damien hard. 

</p><p>     “Yes,” Damien agreed a bit more breathlessly. 
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>That first night together, Damien didn’t sleep well. He woke up every hour, jolted out of sleep by fear. Every time, he reached across the bed and only relaxed once he felt Mark’s warm skin. Mark was still there. He hadn’t left. Once Damien reassured himself of that, sleep lured him back into its embrace. 

</p><p>     It was afternoon before either of them stayed up. Movement from the other side of the bed woke Damien. Mark pushed himself to his feet and cast a longing look at the bar before heading into the bathroom. The moment he was back out, he made a beeline for the bar and opened up another bottle. He didn’t down it all, instead he carried it back to the bed. 

</p><p>     Damien watched all of this with one eye. He shifted to be closer to Mark and could smell the liquor and sweat on him. He wrinkled his nose but otherwise ignored the bitter smell. Maybe they could take a shower together. 

</p><p>     Mark sighed. He took another swig. “I forgot how much you like to stare.” He picked up Damien’s cell phone off the nightstand and unlocked it. Damien hadn’t changed his password. Mark probably would have been able to divine the new one even if he had. Mark browsed through Damien’s phone, occasionally clicking his tongue. A furrow formed between his brows. Without taking his eyes off the phone, Mark took another drink. “How did you get everyone’s numbers?”

</p><p>     “Magic,” Damien replied dryly. He told himself that he didn’t much care that Mark was going through his phone. It wouldn’t be the first time. Beneath the pillow he curled his hand into a fist. It wasn’t a big deal that Mark was invading Damien’s privacy. There wasn’t much to find anyway. 

</p><p>     “Damien, why do you have...seventeen missed calls from Wadsworth?” 

</p><p>     Damien finally hauled himself up enough to crawl over to Mark’s side of the bed. He looked down at the screen. There were in fact seventeen missed calls from Wadsworth. And a voicemail. Damien reached over and played the voicemail. 

</p><p>     Wadsworth’s voice filled the room. “Good morning, Robert! I’ve been trying to call you all morning but you haven’t been answering my calls. You know how important our chats on the phone are. I was so worried about you, Robert, that I went down to your little apartment but you weren’t at home. The timing of your absence happens to coincide with the disappearance of our good mutual friend, Mark Bryant. You may not know this, Robert, but Mark has a substance abuse problem. Joan and Sam are so worried about him. You see, he told them that he was going out to do a photography gig and, well, he never returned. Everyone is concerned that something may have happened to him. I haven’t yet told them that you’re missing as well, Robert, but I’m sure that they’ll find that interesting. Well, I assume you had a busy night so I’ll let your neglect slide this one time, Robert. Rest assured that there will be serious consequences should you continue to ignore my calls. Give Mark my best wishes when you see him.” 

</p><p>     The silence fell like a stone between them. 

</p><p>     Mark was shaking. He twisted around to look at Damien. “You’ve been in contact with her this whole time?” 

</p><p>     Damien met his eye. “Not by choice, honey.” He hoped the nickname would soothe Mark. 

</p><p>     Instead it infuriated him. “Wadsworth! You’ve been talking to that fucking cunt? For how long?” He gestured wildly and spilled some of his alcohol onto the bed and Damien’s hand. 

</p><p>     Damien shook his hand dry. “Since they let me out of the AM. The bitch calls me every day.” 

</p><p>     Mark looked pissed but he also looked bewildered. “Why on earth would you answer?” 

</p><p>     Damien gritted his teeth. He didn’t have to answer Mark. His powers weren’t back so Mark couldn’t use them against him. 

</p><p>     Mark dropped his glass and the phone. He grabbed Damien by the shoulders and shook him. His eyes were bright with madness, his expression one of a caged animal. “Damien! Why do you keep answering her calls?” 

</p><p>     Damien lifted his lip in a snarl. He tried to pull away but Mark was back to full strength. His fingers dug hard into the meat of Damien’s biceps. “Let go!” 

</p><p>     “Tell me!” Mark demanded. 

</p><p>     “Mark, let me <i>go</i>!” Damien struggled to get away. He didn’t want to fight but he didn’t want to answer either; which only left him with flight. 

</p><p>     Mark’s grip only tightened on him. He kneeled on the bed, loomed over Damien. “Are you working with her?”

</p><p>     “No!” Damien hissed. Mark’s weight forced him onto his hands and knees. His arms tingled. He thought about biting Mark and told himself not to. They couldn’t do this. Not again. He couldn’t let them do this. He struggled again. “She said if I didn’t answer her calls every single day, then they’d take you again.” 

</p><p>     Mark abruptly let go. 

</p><p>     Damien fell back onto his haunches. He looked at his arms. There were red marks around both biceps. His skin hurt. He rubbed his sore arms, watching Mark from the corner of his eye. 

</p><p>     Mark glanced at the marks, looked away. “I’m sorry for hurting you.” 
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Damien rarely denied his impulses. He picked up Mark’s camera and turned it on. This would get him into trouble with Mark. He knew it would. Mark’s hackles rose whenever Damien so much as looked at the camera. Touching it would result in a fight. Yet Damien couldn’t seem to put it down. He clicked through the memory card, looked at the older photos Mark had taken. The ones that he’d taken before showing up on Damien’s doorstep. 

</p><p>     Damien recognized all of the faces, though there were some that he knew better than others. What wasn’t people was completely random. Things that had caught Mark’s interest. They were good photos but they didn’t interest Damien. And then he was looking at his own face. In the photo, he was asleep. There wasn’t anything special about the way it was taken; it wasn’t even a very good photo. But looking at it made Damien antsy. 

</p><p>     The next one was another picture of Damien asleep. So was the next and the next. Damien checked the numbers; there were still ten pictures left. He clicked through them. The timestamp said that Mark had taken one every night since the first night. Some were outrageously bad, like Mark had moved while taking them. Some were artistic in their composition and lighting. 

</p><p>     “Damien.” Mark had the same cold steel tone that his sister used whenever she addressed Damien. He sounded furious and wary at the same time. 

</p><p>     Damien twisted around, camera still in hand. 

</p><p>     Mark’s expression was calculating and cold. The wheels were turning in his head as he decided how to best get his camera back from Damien.

</p><p>     “You took pictures of me.” 

</p><p>     “Give me my camera.” Mark didn’t take his eyes off Damien. He looked like he wanted to beat Damien into another coma. 

</p><p>     For a moment Damien had the urge to smash the camera against the nearest wall, to crush it beneath his boot. He looked down at the display. It was the most recent picture, taken yesterday afternoon with a beam of sunlight cutting across Damien’s throat and his face in shadows. Why would Mark take this picture? Why would he take any of them? Damien stood up and walked to Mark with slow steps as though approaching a wild animal. When they were face to face, Damien held out the camera. 

</p><p>     Mark took it but Damien didn’t let go right away. 

</p><p>     Damien met his eye. “Don’t let anyone get their hands on those.” He forced himself to let go of the camera. Then he sidestepped Mark and left their room. 
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</p><p>Damien tried to use his powers. He struggled to get hold of it but it was like trying to wrangle eels; it was too slippery to hold onto. 

</p><p>     He and Mark stayed in their rooms, mostly staring at each other, trying to make the other one do something. Feel something. 

</p><p>     The thing was, Mark’s power worked just fine. Mark wasn’t the broken one. So he was mainly sitting and trying to coach Damien through strengthening his powers. Which was a lot like a person who's never seen a horse in real life trying to give you riding instructions. 

</p><p>     But slowly, ever so slowly, Damien got a grip on his powers. He felt it in his soul, if he had one of those. Somewhere deep inside of himself. 

</p><p>     Mark got more edgy when Damien’s powers began to come back in earnest. Yet he was supportive. At least as much as he could be when just being around Damien meant that he was being manipulated. 

</p><p>     The good thing was that with both their powers working, it wasn’t one sided anymore. This was a loop. When Damien wanted something, Mark wanted it. And when Mark wanted something, Damien wanted it. They were finally on even footing. 
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</p><p>Someone had left the door to the roof propped open. Damien thought he remembered reading something about how that was dangerous because people could jump off easier. But as a smoker, he understood that the hotel staff - and probably the guests - wanted easy access to a space they were allowed to smoke. It was a clear night, the air just this side of cool. Autumn had barely set in, winter was still a dream. 

</p><p>     They were running low on smokes. Turned out that when you got two smokers together they, well, smoked a lot. Damien shook out one of their last cigarettes. After this, there would only be one left. “You wanna share?” 

</p><p>     Mark sighed. He didn’t used to smoke, at least not heavily, until this trip. Damien suspected that he was trying to substitute alcohol for cigarettes. One poison for another. “Yeah, okay.” 

</p><p>     Damien lit the cigarette, took a drag, then offered it to Mark. He looked out at the city. The lights sparkled brighter than the stars. He looked at Mark. “I’m sorry.” 

</p><p>     Mark didn’t pass the cigarette back. He looked at Damien and took another drag. He blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth and remained silent. 

</p><p>     Damien wished Mark would give the cigarette back so that he had something to do with his hands. He thought about lighting the other one but it seemed like they should have an emergency cigarette. Instead, he played with the strings on his hoodie. It was easier to look at the skyline than to look at Mark. “For not taking you straight to Dr. B and...hoarding you for myself.” Damien paused. It was hard to put words to this. He wasn’t even sure why he was trying. Was Mark making him apologize or did he actually want to? It was difficult to tell but Damien was fairly sure that this was him; apologizing sucked but not quite in the same way that Mark controlling him did. “And for not getting you a camera.” He tied his strings into a knot.  

</p><p>     Mark exhaled, long and slow. He gripped Damien’s chin, jerked Damien’s face so that they were looking at each other. His grip was painful. His eyes were black pits of endless fury. “Anything else?” 

</p><p>     Damien swallowed down the initial urge to punch Mark in the stomach. As a rule, Damien was fairly non-confrontational. He didn’t <i>like</i> being made to confront Mark about this face-to-face. It was hard enough without looking at him. Damien swallowed. “I know that you want me to apologize for forcing you tell me about the AM, but I don’t feel sorry about that. I’m sorry it hurt you but I’m not sorry I did it.” 

</p><p>     Mark searched Damien’s face, his eyes. He seemed to see right into Damien’s soul. His hand went from a rough grip to a gentle caress on Damien’s cheek. Mark darted forward to kiss Damien, swift and insincere. “Not good enough,” he murmured against Damien’s lips. 

</p><p>     Did he mean the apology or Damien himself? 

</p><p>     Damien didn’t get a chance to find out because the next moment someone very loudly said “Fucking faggots!” 

</p><p>     Mark and Damien both snapped their heads in the direction of the voice. There was a third party on the roof, someone they hadn’t noticed before. The other man must have just come up because he was still near the door. He had an unlit cigarette in his hand. “So fucking disgusting. Can’t get any peace from these fucking faggots clogging up the air -”

</p><p>     Damien felt the thing that was Mark’s power shift and move in his mind. It felt more solid than it had previous nights. He took his eyes off the man to look at Mark. 

</p><p>     Mark stared at the man with an open hatred and a determined set to his brow. 

</p><p>     The man’s jaw snapped shut. He let out a muffled yelp of pain as he bit his tongue. Abruptly, the man marched past them. He looked like a wind up soldier marching in the direction its owner sent it. The man’s eyes were wild when he passed them. Then his face snapped forward, no longer looking at them. He didn’t make a sound as he stepped up onto the ledge of the roof. He didn’t look back as he stepped over the edge and fell to the concrete below. His body made a sickening thud that they could hear even from nine stories up. It was like something wet and fragile had splattered onto the sidewalk. 

</p><p>     There were screams from below. 

</p><p>     Mark took Damien’s hand and pulled him off the roof. He took the cigarette with them. 

</p><p>     “Was that you?” Damien asked as they half ran through the hallway.

</p><p>     Mark seemed to have a destination in mind. He didn’t look at Damien. “Well it wasn’t you,” he mocked. They stopped beside a maid pushing a cart. 

</p><p>     “The security room is on the ground floor,” the maid told them. 

</p><p>     They were gone before she could wonder why she’d said that. Damien nearly tripped over his feet. Mark was moving fast, with purpose. They took the stairs, raced down them so fast that they nearly fell a few times but caught each other before they hit the concrete steps.

</p><p>     Damien felt Mark’s power flexing, urging people to stay out of the stairwell and not hear their rushed footsteps. He was dizzy with the realization that their powers were back (at least enough to make someone walk off a building) and that his didn’t need to be ripped out of him this time. On the ground floor, they paused to catch their breaths. “Gonna have him erase the tapes?” Damien asked between pants. Smokers lungs were so shitty for running down nine flights of stairs.

</p><p>     Mark nodded. He straightened up and wiped the sweat off his brow. Then he grabbed Damien’s hand and laced their fingers together. Mark opened the door to the grand lobby. There was an easy smile on his face even though his powers were pushing everyone except Damien away. 

</p><p>     Damien tested his powers out too and found that they were a lot stronger than they had been a week ago. Normally he did this at least once a day but he was ashamed to say that he’d forgotten for a while. It was just him and Mark in the hotel room and they’d been having a lot of sex and getting room service. Damien was scared of pushing Mark away if he tried to test his power levels on him so he hadn’t bothered. Now he could feel it, could feel the minds of other people as they passed by. It was a relief to get his power back. Now he just had to keep it from Wadsworth. 

</p><p>     The security office was helpfully labeled in big block lettering so they found it easily. No one looked at them as they hurried across marble floors to the office. The officers inside only looked up at them but didn’t ask what they were doing there. 

</p><p>     “Hello, gentlemen,” Damien purred. He was eager to flex, eager to stretch his powers to the max. It had been so long since he last played. 

</p><p>     Between Mark and Damien, neither had to even speak their wants out loud to convince the officers to immediately begin erasing all of the footage in the entire hotel from the past hour. 

</p><p>     The police came and lit up the street with red and blue lights. There was something about those lights that inspired a somber fear. Damien knew he shouldn’t be afraid: they had their powers back. But he had never killed someone like this before. 

</p><p>     Mark glanced at Damien and took his hand. He led the way to the restaurant within the hotel and once inside, he willed a couple to get up from their table. 

</p><p>     Damien and Mark slid into their seats and together they willed the other diners not to notice the swap. 

</p><p>     Mark downed the champagne on the table. He smiled at Damien. His wants curled around Damien’s mind. 

</p><p>     Damien smiled back. He slipped his foot out of his sneaker and set his heel on the bench between Mark’s legs. It seemed like the thing to do. Damien tried to shake off Mark’s wants and then realized that it didn’t matter so much. It wasn’t like he didn’t want the arch of his foot rubbing up against Mark’s dick. And he did want to be calm because surely the police were going to come in soon. 

</p><p>     They ate the food left on the plates of the couple they had removed from the booth. Mark faced the door and kept one eye on it. His eyes were sharp, his mind and wants were barbed in Damien’s head. There was something about the look in his eyes. Something unhinged. It had been there for a while, Damien realized. 
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</p><p>Later in bed, Mark rolled towards Damien. His expression wasn’t visible in the dark. “Are you okay with what I did tonight?” 

</p><p>     There was no need to specify what Mark was talking about. Damien reached out for Mark and curled his fingers in the neckline of his t-shirt. His knuckles brushed against the hollow of Mark’s throat. “The fucker deserved it.” 

</p><p>     Mark put his hand over Damien’s. “Not everyone would agree with that.” 

</p><p>     “Well I’m not everyone,” Damien grumbled, a little annoyed at being compared  to <i>other humans</i>. Most of the time, Damien didn’t even feel like a human being. He just felt like something <i>other</i>. “We still need to get cigarettes. Should have stolen his before he went for his little walk.” 

</p><p>     Mark huffed out a soundless laugh. He squeezed Damien’s hand. “Thanks for being okay with it...even though you aren’t a killer.” 

</p><p>     Damien gave an angry huff but it was to cover up how fast his heart was beating, how scared he was. He knew what the AM had made Mark do. This was a little different though; no one made Mark kill that man tonight. Damien was again reminded that Mark could and would kill him if he really got tired of Damien. “How do you know?” he demanded behind false bravado. People had died because of Damien’s manipulations but Damien never outright wanted someone to die. 

</p><p>     Mark pressed their foreheads together. “I don’t. Not for sure, though I could probably get you to tell me. It’s just a feeling I have.” He rubbed his nose against Damien’s nose and then pressed their bodies flush together. “Can you feel me in your head like I can feel you?” 

</p><p>     Damien’s breath caught. He nodded, rendered mute by surprise. 

</p><p>     “It’s like you’ve burrowed into the back of my skull.” 

</p><p>     “It’s strange,” Damien admitted. They were close enough that Damien could taste the alcohol on Mark’s breath. “I don’t think I like it.” 

</p><p>     Mark hummed, the vibrations hung in the air between them. “I don’t think we’ve got a choice if we want to stay together.” 

</p><p>     There it was, the thing that had held Damien’s tongue, that stayed his words. He was sure that Mark was right. If he wanted to stay with Mark, to continue on being Mark’s boyfriend, then he would have to learn to deal with the strange intrusion in his mind. 

</p><p>     “Do you want to stay together?”

</p><p>     Damien rolled onto his back and pulled Mark on top of him. He kissed the corner of Mark’s mouth - not quite what he’d been aiming for but it was dark - and groaned low in his throat. “Of course I do, honey. Don’t think for a second that I don’t.” 
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</p><p>They got a table outside and lit up cigarettes as soon as the waiter got their orders. Mark sat back in his chair with his legs drawn up. He looked past the string lights that framed the patio and out into the inky blackness beyond. “Annabelle isn’t immortal.”

</p><p>     “Yet,” Damien muttered darkly. He was still miffed about everything that had happened at the AM. 

</p><p>     Mark inclined his cigarette towards Damien. “You and I together can’t use our power on her.” 

</p><p>     Damien felt a warm glow at it being called <i>our</i> power. 

</p><p>     “But it’s not like she’s bulletproof,” Mark finished. He flicked the ashes off his cigarette then brought it to his lips. The tip flared cherry red. He glanced at Damien from the corner of his eye and smirked around the cigarette. 

</p><p>     “Our power will be useful for getting her alone and framing someone else for it,” Damien pointed out. They fell silent as the waiter brought their drinks. Soda for Damien and a glass of wine for Mark. 

</p><p>     “We’ll have to get a gun.” Mark watched Damien over his wine glass. 

</p><p>     Damien met his eye. He wasn’t afraid of killing someone. Especially not Annabelle. In fact, he almost wished they could draw it out. But execution style was smarter. She was formidable and had fucked with the both of them. “Should be easy enough to get one.” Damien mentally flexed, just to remind Mark that he was getting back to 100%. 

</p><p>     Mark flexed back, a not-so-subtle reminder that they were strung tightly together. 

</p><p>     Damien still wasn’t used to the sensation. It was like someone had put another organ in his body. Sometimes it was like a snake had crawled under his skin and made itself at home within him. When Mark didn’t actively want something from Damien, his presence in Damien seemed to just go to sleep but it never completely left him. Damien kept his face carefully blank though, just blew smoke out his nose. 

</p><p>     They regarded each other warily. There was a chance that as soon as they got the gun, Mark would turn it on Damien. Damien was fairly certain that if Mark was going to turn on him, it would be after they killed Annabelle. 
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</p><p>Damien wanted the girl to give him her violin and so she handed it over to him. He fitted it snug under his chin and checked the tuning. It was perfect. Damien began playing a song off the top of his head.

</p><p>     Mark stood on the sidewalk with his hands shoved in his pockets. His scarf fluttered in the wind. He kept his brown eyes trained on Damien. “Is that <i>Counting Stars</i>?”

</p><p>     Damien hummed agreement. He hadn’t heard the song in forever but if Mark recognized it then he was doing a good job. 

</p><p>     The passersby on the street stopped and pulled out wallets. They threw their money into the open violin case. One threw in a visa gift card. Then they would pause and throw in more cash as Mark’s wants hit them again. 

</p><p>     The girl who owned the violin watched in amazement, tears in her eyes and a smile hidden behind her worn out gloves. 

</p><p>     Damien wouldn’t take it all from her, but he was damn well going to get his cut. He really needed a violin - now that he was playing again, he remembered how much he liked it - but he would rather take it from a store than from some homeless girl. Mark’s wants woke up and slithered around Damien’s spine. The next thing Damien knew, he was singing. 

</p><p>     That was when people started dropping jewelry into the violin case. No one slipped by without donating to the cause; not even people on the other side of the street. 

</p><p>     Mark’s eyes sparkled with mischief and madness. He leaned against a decorated light pole and didn’t take his eyes off Damien. 

</p><p>     Damien slid from one song to the next seamlessly, a rendition of <i>Take Me To Church</i>. It would have sounded better with more instruments but as it was, Damien was a one-man band. And he didn’t know how to play anything except the violin. His gaze flitted around the plaza but ultimately he kept getting drawn back into Mark. 

</p><p>     “Hey! Do you know any Lindsey Stirling?” Someone from the crowd called when the song was over. 

</p><p>     Damien wasn’t sure that he could repeat her dubstep style but he was pretty sure he could at least give it a shot. “Let’s find out.” He played one of her older songs. Personally he thought they needed an actual band and whatever she used to make her music sound like <i>that</i> but people seemed happy enough with it. Hard to tell if that was because he wanted them to though. Damien played through that one and moved on to a faster one that had a lot of ‘<i>ooos</i>’ in the vocals. Actually, that was all the vocals were. 

</p><p>     Mark was watching him with a small grin on his face. He looked happy, relaxed, <i>sober</i>, in a way that he hadn’t in a long time. 

</p><p>     “Do you know <i>The Devil Went Down to Georgia</i>?” Someone asked him. 

</p><p>     Damien glowered. “This is a violin, not a fiddle.” 

</p><p>     The man took off his watch and threw it into the violin case before walking off. 

</p><p>     Damien didn’t try to play the whole song because it mostly had nothing to do with fiddles (or violins) but he could play the fiddle parts of the Devil and Johnny. He did so with the satisfaction that the requester was out of earshot. After that bit of pettiness, Damien switched it to Christmas carols because those had been done to death and were easy and ‘tis the season. 

</p><p>     The violin case was overflowing. The girl was crying now, actually crying, but she was smiling too. Damien had never made someone cry tears of joy before. It was…interesting. 

</p><p>     By the time Damien finished up with <i>Dance Of The Sugarplum Fairy,</i> he was sweating in his hoodie. He mentally flexed outward, willing everyone to walk by them without seeing them. Damien felt Mark’s disappointment - expressed through wanting to hear Damien play more - but it was easy to push away the want. He gave the girl her violin back then crouched beside the case to inspect their fortunes. 

</p><p>     The girl watched him. “Oh, of course you guys can...I mean you earned most of it anyway.” 

</p><p>     “We won’t take all of it,” Mark promised. He came up behind Damien. 

</p><p>     Damien rolled his eyes. “Relax, honey.” That was directed at both of them. “I’m not going to clean anyone out.” 

</p><p>     Mark lightly cuffed Damien on the back of the head. Then he lit a cigarette and watched the street. It was nice to have someone there to watch Damien’s back; literally and metaphorically. 

</p><p>     Damien was fairly good at telling valuables from fakes or cheap shit so he left most of the valuables (watches, chains, jewelry) with the girl unless they had a serial number that could be tracked. He took all of the cheap shit because he could convince a pawn shop that it was worth a fortune and he took enough cash that if something happened to their powers, they’d be able to pay for food and rooms. 

</p><p>     That still left the girl with a thousand worth of pawnable items and another thousand between the visa gift cards and cash. And that didn’t even include the gift cards for restaurants and coffee shops. 

</p><p>     Damien stood up with his pockets full of loot. Not bad for forty minutes of doing something he loved. “Hey kid,” he waited until she was looking at him. “Take care of that. And don’t just go handing it off to strangers anymore. Not all of them are as nice as us.” Not that it was her fault. 

</p><p>     “Thank you so much!” She wiped her eyes. Her cheeks were red from cold and crying. “I’ll take good care of it.” 

</p><p>     Damien wanted to stay nearby until she got everything tucked away and out of sight, kept all of the eyes off them. It wouldn’t do to have someone mug the girl because of how much she was carrying. He bumped his shoulder against Mark’s and pulled the hand holding the cigarette to his mouth to steal a drag. 

</p><p>     Mark waited till Damien was done before he switched his cigarette to his other hand and put his arm around Damien’s shoulders. “You’re really good at that.”

</p><p>     Damien shrugged. “I like playing.” He leaned his head against Mark’s shoulder.  He wanted another drag. 

</p><p>     Mark brought the cigarette back to Damien’s lips. “Alright, that’s fair,” he said with an eye roll. “We should get you your own violin.”

</p><p>     “So that you can make me play whenever you want?” Damien half-teased.

</p><p>     Mark smirked. “Exactly.” He looked over their shoulders at the girl. She had everything hidden away by now. “It was nice meeting you. Go find someplace safe and warm to stay tonight.”

</p><p>     The girl beamed at them. “It was nice meeting you two, too. I will.” Then she was gone down the street, propelled away on the mission Mark had given her. Because the desire was from him and not Damien, it would wear off after thirty feet. But hopefully she would keep going because of common sense. 

</p><p>     “We should find a place too.” They continued down the street in the same direction they had meant to go an hour ago. 

</p><p>     Damien peered up at him, tried to gauge how Mark was doing tonight. 

</p><p>     Mark must have felt his curiosity because he sighed. “It doesn’t <i>have</i> to have a bar. I guess. But I refuse to stay in another cheap motel for the rest of my life. It’s luxury or death and you’d better bury me in a luxury coffin.”

</p><p>     Damien laughed. “Anything for you, honey.” He slipped his hand into Mark’s back pocket. They would find something. This was a rich little East Coast town, all decked out for the holidays. There was bound to be something in this city to Mark’s tastes. 
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</p><p>Damien lay on his back with Mark between his legs. He dragged his nails along Mark’s scalp, through the short hair that was slick with sweat. With every thrust, a whimper was forced from Damien’s throat. He had no control over the sounds he was making and even though he knew that Mark liked hearing the sounds, he also knew that it wasn’t Mark’s wants that coaxed the noises from his throat. He hadn’t known he was capable of making these noises and wasn’t overly thrilled about it. But Damien was past being the embarrassed virgin. Damien pushed his hips up with every other thrust and held them there so that for a split second the pleasure felt like molten honey curling through his core and up his spine. 

</p><p>     No matter how hard or gently that Mark fucked him, it always felt like he was carving out a space in Damien to fill up with himself. Now he was tenderly excavating the fractured pieces of Damien’s soul. Being treated gently hurt. Even if it was Mark. Especially because it was Mark. Mark kept his hooded eyes trained on Damien, drank in the sight of him as though Damien were water. His breath came raggedly through parted lips. 

</p><p>     Mark was beautiful to look at and Damien was vulnerable enough that he couldn’t quite hide his thoughts from showing in his expression. Damien wanted to hold Mark’s hand. He let his fall back onto the bed beside them, palm up in open invitation. 

</p><p>     Mark smacked their palms together, fingers clasping. His hand shook with tremors though the rest of him was steady as ever. 

</p><p>     Damien squeezed his hand. He squeezed Mark’s hips with his knees to try to hold him still, to try to hold onto that honied pleasure. Another high, soft moan passed between his lips. His eyes fluttered closed.

</p><p>     Mark pushed deep into Damien and held that pose until his muscles shook. He squeezed Damien’s hand hard. His moan sounded accidental and almost like Damien’s name. Long seconds passed with them straining together and then Mark pulled back, breaking the pressure.

</p><p>     The men exhaled in unison. 

</p><p>     Damien let his ass fall back onto the mattress. He watched Mark through his lashes. Mark’s cock was nearly entirely out of him, only the head still inside to hold Damien open. Damien didn’t like the empty feeling; he wanted Mark to fill him.

</p><p>     Mark picked up a new rhythm, slow building like the opening notes to a song. He leaned down to kiss Damien’s temple.

</p><p>     Damien met Mark’s pace thrust for thrust. He lifted his face to capture Mark’s lips on his. 

</p><p>     Mark kissed him, pressure changing with every thrust. Hard and soft, drawing near and pulling away in an endless cycle. 

</p><p>     Their breathing was in sync. 

</p><p>     Mark’s thrusts slowed until he was still inside Damien. His head bowed to bring their lips together in unhurried kisses. 

</p><p>     Damien freed his hand from Mark’s grip and wrapped both arms around Mark’s neck. He pulled Mark down onto him so that he was close to suffocation with every breath. His wants rose within both of them like a tidal wave of panic. 

</p><p>     Mark’s expressions shifted as he felt Damien’s wants until it settled on a grimace. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, the only trace of pain in his features was a shattered look in his eyes. He pressed their foreheads together. “I’m right here, Damien.” 

</p><p>     Damien breathed in the smell of Mark; something he was intimately familiar with. Sometimes he felt like he could track Mark down by scent alone like a hound after its prey. He tightened his grip on Mark even though logically he knew that Mark wouldn’t leave him. The thing in Damien’s skull that was Mark grew barbs and sank them into Damien’s mind. He closed his eyes against the intrusion. The question was clear in his mind without Mark having to say a word out loud: <i>why are you still so desperately lonely?</i> “I don’t know,” he gritted out. Then his voice broke and he said again, “I don’t know.” 

</p><p>     “I-“ Mark cut himself off by kissing Damien; because Damien wanted him to. “I literally can’t get closer to you, Damien. You know that right? I’m in your mind, in your body.” <i>In your heart</i> went unspoken. Mark pulled out and flopped onto his side next to Damien. 

</p><p>     Damien whimpered at the loss. He reached for Mark. 

</p><p>     Mark wrapped Damien in his arms. They lay side by side, limbs so tangled that it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended. 

</p><p>     <i>Am I not enough for you?</i> 

</p><p>     Damien buried his face beneath Mark’s neck. He squeezed his eyes shut. Even Mark’s painful presence in his mind didn’t satisfy. All he wanted was to be closer, closer, closer. They couldn’t get close enough. Damien didn’t know what was wrong with him but he was sure that there must be <i>something</i> broken in him. “I love you,” Damien confessed needlessly. 

</p><p>     Mark didn’t reply. No one ever mentioned how a silver tongue made silver words and that their sharp edges left scars. Mark managed to cut into Damien both when he spoke and when he was in silence. 

</p><p>     Damien took a shuddering breath as he tried not to cry. The tears came anyway. He knew that they had a rocky relationship, that Damien had really fucked up, that Mark wasn’t there because he loved Damien back. 
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</p><p>Damien stood in the middle of the park beneath a halo of lamplight. He took his violin out of the case and fit it beneath his chin. There was no need to check the tune. Damien drew the bow across the strings and began to play. 

</p><p>     Wadsworth stopped walking to look at him. She didn’t seem bothered by his presence, which was what they were planning on. Her expression was one of mild curiosity.

</p><p>     The song that Damien played was slow and beautiful, with just an undercurrent of danger to the notes. It was a complicated piece of music. The music itself was loud and clear in the quiet night yet no one else ventured near the park to investigate. Damien watched Wadsworth through his lashes, mostly to keep an eye on her to make sure she was still enthralled by him. 

</p><p>     When he was through, Wadsworth clapped her hands. “Well done, Robert. You certainly have a hidden talent for the violin.” Her voice was cloying sweet like rancid fruit.

</p><p>     Damien lowered his violin only slightly. If it came down to it, he was almost certain he could stab her with the bow. “What a compliment, coming from you.” His tone was dry.

</p><p>     Wadsworth plastered a smile on her face. “Such a shame that no one knows about it. I bet Mark would be impressed.”

</p><p>     Mark had taken his shoes off beforehand, just in case the music didn’t completely mask his footsteps. He approached in stocking feet, silently creeping towards Wadsworth’s back. There was a lit cigarette tucked behind his ear that he didn’t seem to worry about burning him. The smell of the cigarette should have given him away but the wind was blowing towards him and away from Wadsworth. He wore grays that made him meld into the shadows. His hands were protected by expensive leather gloves. Mark stopped five feet behind her. It was dangerously close. He pulled out the gun, matte black with a silencer on the end. 

</p><p>     For just a moment the gun was trained not on Wadsworth, but on Damien. Damien looked over Wadsworth’s shoulder and into the shadows of Mark’s face. He gripped his violin tightly and willed his face not to give anything away. Maybe Mark would shoot him first but if Damien gave it away before he could shoot Wadsworth…

</p><p>     The gun swung in Wadsworth’s direction. 

</p><p>     Damien followed the movement with his eyes. “Mark is impressed.” 

</p><p>     Maybe it was Damien’s eyes that gave them away. Maybe it was his words. Maybe it was the rapid movement of the gun making a sound through the air. Wadsworth’s face suddenly dawned with the understanding that Damien was a siren, a lure. He was not the threat here. For once she had underestimated both of them. Wadsworth whipped around to face Mark. 

</p><p>     Mark shot Wadsworth point blank between the eyes. 

</p><p>     Wadsworth’s body crumpled to the ground. She didn’t have time to speak so much as a single word; no chance to talk herself out of the situation. 

</p><p>     Mark stepped up to her and shot her six more times in the head and once through the heart. He only stopped when the chamber clicked empty. There was a fierce rage in his eyes, a desperation in his expression. It seemed like killing Wadsworth wasn’t enough. And then Mark let the gun fall back to his side. He stared at the mess that used to be Wadsworth’s head. 

</p><p>     Damien put his violin back in the case. He walked over to Mark, a bit wary even though the gun was out of bullets. He sidestepped the growing pool of blood to stand beside his boyfriend. “Well,” he said slowly. “That was easy.”

</p><p>     “Maybe too easy,” Mark conceded. His wants shifted around like a snake curled through Damien’s mind. It was nothing specific, just a flex. 

</p><p>     Damien sent back a flurry of want, all indistinguishable things, just to let Mark know that he wasn’t alone. He should pick through Mark’s wants and see if his life was actually in danger but Damien didn’t feel like it. Let Mark poison his food or smother him with a pillow in his sleep. He reached out and plucked the cigarette from Mark’s ear before it burned his head or caught his hair on fire. He took a drag. “You were right about her not being bulletproof.” 

</p><p>     “What a large relief that is,” Mark said. He shook himself off. The gun was placed in the predetermined spot as they walked out of the empty park. 

</p><p>     A man sat on a bench just outside the park’s walls. When the couple passed them, he got to his feet and went into the park. The man went straight for the gun. He wasn’t wearing gloves. He reloaded the gun and then shot Wadsworth’s body eight more times. Then, he began to kick her body and scream obscenities at her. 

</p><p>     All of this was also predetermined and set into motion almost twenty minutes ago. After they crossed the street to the nearest pay phone, Mark said, “I’m out of range.” 

</p><p>     “I have about seven minutes left,” Damien replied. It was more than enough time. 

</p><p>     Since Mark was the one with the gloves on, he dialed 9-1-1 and reported that he’d been walking his dog when he heard shots fired from the nearby park. Then he hung up and slotted his arm through Damien’s. They kept walking. No one saw the two men.

</p><p>     Back at the hotel in their room, Damien pushed Mark up against the wall. He slotted a thigh between Mark’s legs. “So I’m your dog now, huh? Think I’m gonna roll over for you?” 

</p><p>     A hard shove sent Damien to the bed. Mark advanced, fast, eager. His eyes were lit with hunger. He crawled up on top of Damien. “Oh, you’re going to do more than roll over for me, puppy.” 

</p><p>     Damien felt a tingle of excitement, a flush of arousal curl through him. His cock was swiftly getting hard. “Am I?” Damien challenged. He shivered, could feel Mark’s lust reflected in his wants. 

</p><p>     Mark growled under his breath. He hauled Damien up by the front of his hoodie, crushed their lips together. “Oh yeah you are, my bratty little puppy dog. You’re going to lick where I tell you to, and beg when I tell you to.”

</p><p>     Arousal rose like a wave through Damien. He liked this side of Mark; a side he had only gotten glimpses of before. Still, Damien could feel that as much as Mark
wanted him to behave, Mark also wanted something of a challenge. Damien lifted his chin defiantly. “And if I don’t?” 

</p><p>     “Good puppies get treats and bad puppies get punished, Damien,” Mark promised. He kissed Damien again. “So which do you want to be?” 

</p><p>     Damien smirked against his lips. He nipped at Mark’s bottom lip. “Haven’t you figured that one out by now, honey?” Damien purred. 

</p><p>     He wasn’t caught by surprise when Mark tossed Damien back and all but ripped Damien’s clothes off his body. Mark had them both stretched out and naked in record time. 

</p><p>     Together they celebrated the death of an enemy. 
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</p><p>“There will be others,” Mark said.

</p><p>     Damien didn’t have to ask what he was talking about. Wadsworth was only one person. She wasn’t even very high on the hierarchy. “I know.”

</p><p>     “They won’t all be as easy as Wadsworth.”

</p><p>     “I think between the two of us, we’ll figure something out.” Damien didn’t want to start a fight but he had to mention it, “I’m not saying they will but you know Dr. B and Sam might…”

</p><p>     Mark sighed, harsh and tired. “I know but we don’t know for sure. We’ll keep an eye on them and take care of things if it comes to it.”</p>
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